Monthly Archives: May 2008

MommyTime is hosting a little shindig at her place next Tuesday, June 3 — a little prom retrospective, if you will — and I told her I’d help spread the word. ‘Cause I think it’s totally brill. I LOVE looking at old photos, don’t you?

All you have to do is post about YOUR prom experience, head on over to Mommy’s Martini, link to your post and grab yourself a cool badge.

Bring it on Doogs — the good, the bad, and the just damn ugly. Break those stories and accompanying photos outta the vault. We know you got ’em. Go ahead and purge.

In the meantime, I’ll be doing some digging of my own — WHERE my pics are is anyone’s guess. I haven’t seen them in years.

Last week, our humble town played host to Barack Obama for a few hours. Tickets went fast, and Mommypie missed out, but co-worker QB (who you may remember from the birthday post) scored.

Even Waldo was there.

Mommypie: Tell me about the overall atmosphere.

QB: Besides being in a sweaty, cramped gym with other people’s children kicking my back, great! The organizers did little to pump up the crowd, but people were excited, vocal, and boisterous on their own. We were made to go through TSA (they came allll the way down from the airport) security, and Hubby Bee had to give up his 1/2 inch blade Swiss Army Knife. I told him he was lucky he didn’t have to spend the night in a jail cell for being a stereotypical 20-something white American terrorist.

Mommypie: So, who’s the O-Ho in the red glasses?

QB: This annoying little minion was technically the “Regional Director of the Obama Campaign.” More like “Regional Director of Getting-You-To-Spread-Your-Political-Views-Upon-Unsuspecting-Citizens.”

Mommypie: Yeah, what’s THAT all about? You had to make phone calls?

QB: We were all given a sheet of paper with a list of five names from a phone bank of unsuspecting citizens. On the back side was a sample of what we were supposed to say to these people. Instead of being cursed at, I called one person. Unfortunately YOU wouldn’t pick up the phone, so I called my friend JBee. I didn’t tell her it was me. Well, not at first. I followed the card word for word, and it wasn’t until she dropped the phone in hysterics that I finally lost my composure and told her what was going on. Besides not being a fan of pressing my political views upon the unsuspecting public (or the public at all) there were 10,000 people trying to make phone calls at the same time. Along with all the other people NOT doing what O-Ho told them to do and just plain screwing around while the rest of us (who?) were being good little O minions. The noise made it physically impossible to hear on the phone anyway.

Mommypie: So, how many times was the word CHANGE mentioned? We could make it a drinking game.

QB: More like, how many times was “Yes We Can” mentioned. And that was a whole never. A lot like my interview here. You could feel the crowd yearning for a ’bout of “Yes We Can” chants, their dreams never to be fulfilled. Mommypie, if only you could have joined me at the rally, I totally would have turned CHANGE-mentioning into a drinking game. Assuming we could slip the flasks past TSA security …

Mommypie: Michael Keaton. Hot or not?

QB: BATMAN! O-Ho failed to mention Multiplicity when she introduced the night’s special guest and his long list of work. Apparently no one saw that movie? Bummer. Now readers of the famed Mommypie (EDITOR’S NOTE: Obviously, QB has me confused with someone else.) must understand one thing. Mr. Batman — I mean Keaton — is a town local. He owns at least a penthouse in our town, if not a ranch, condo, townhome, shopping mall and restaurant. So, his appearance might have seemed grand and spectacular to O-Ho, but I’m sure she didn’t get the reaction she expected. (The regional director wasn’t even from this region.)

Mommypie: Yeah, we pretty much fall over ourselves to IGNORE celebs in this town.

QB: Seriously. The washed out jeans and blazer didn’t do Michael Keaton justice. He’s attractive in a soon-to-be-older-actor way. Especially given his task … to introduce the introducer of Obama. Honestly, Mr. Batman’s job was to introduce the mayor of one of the smaller towns (1,300 people to be exact) in the region. The mayor was actually the one to introduce Obama. I did see Mr. Batman downtown at the pizza joint after the rally, however.

Mommypie: So, after seeing the O-Man, are you a CHANGED woman?

QB: Yes I Am! Yes I Am! Yes, I Am! Wait. You know, Mommypie, I’m more changed after writing this account than I was the moment I left the rally. It was an experience. One I wouldn’t give away, but I’m still clinging to the fence. Still pondering the “but … but …” indecisiveness. I’m excited for our state election, I’m excited for November, and I’m excited for change. (DRINK) And like I said, I’m in it to show people of my age that they DO matter. That men and women alike fought for my right to vote, and it’s my duty to myself and the country I live in to get my arse out of bed and vote. Regardless of my political view, my bleeding-feminist heart says, “Women fought for women’s rights so that you can vote” so get out there!

Thanks QB!

And now, a pop quiz to see just how much you were paying attention, Doogs. Correctly tell me how many pics Waldo appears in and you get a gold star.

Running on two hours of sleep, but the DVD’s due back tomorrow so it was a must see tonight. I’m joining the general public on this one — two thumbs waaay up. Who knew unplanned teenage pregnancy could be so heartwarming? Now I feel all warm and fuzzy and ready for bed.

Not unlike the feeling I had ALL DAY.

For whatever reason, I was unable to fall asleep last night until 5 a.m. After hours of lying in the dark, fighting the good fight, I gave up, turned on the light, and read this fabulous NY Times articlemy hyper-cool city friend Steph emailed the other day. If you’re a blogger, you’ll enjoy it. I’m actually only halfway through — it’s LONG — but I’m confident it’s good to the last drop. I skipped ahead. Go on, read it. Eees good.

Aaand, right here there was a little spontaneous remark about a senator I was nominating for THIS BLOG. An hour later, I realized it might have appeared as more of a personal attack rather than truth in humor. So, I’ve taken it out, along with his photo.

I’m feeling a bit of the parent-of-an-only-child guilt. MP’s lonely. And the number of times she’s expressed wanting a companion is heartbreaking.

So, I’m thinking about getting her a dog. Been thinking about it for awhile, actually.

It’s not that easy, though. Because of her asthma and allergies, our selection is pretty limited. My personal criteria narrows the choices even more. Put it all together, it spells:

No barkers.

No biters.

No yippers.

No lickers.

No shedders.

No jumpers.

And no males. Because if I had to narrow my requirements down to two things …

NO BALLS.

I do not want them in the house.
I do not want them on the couch.

I will not have them on my bed.
I will not have them near my head.

I will not eat them in a box.
I will not eat them with a fox.
Wait. That’s not right.

I do not want to look at dog nuts.
(Nor do I want to look at dog BUTTS.
Which is why I’d NEVER have a Pug.
Ugg.)

In a nutsack nutshell, I don’t want those things swingin’ around the Pie House. And if I’m being honest, which clearly I AM, it’s really the whole junkage that’s an issue. The whole <insert one jazz hand> area. It’s straight up p*rnographic. (See how I did that? Try to find me NOW, Google Pervs.)

Especially on the larger breeds. Great Dane? Super!! While we’re at it, let’s get a baboon with a big ‘ole ‘roid butt and call it a day. I always did want a monkey.